A Second Chance
by Kuroi Uma
Summary: He had not expected to survive... Now he's left with a blank page ahead of him; a chance to choose how he wishes to spend the rest of his days. But should he accept Charlotte Balfour's invitation? Will it lead to the peace and fulfilment he's always sought? Or will it only bring back old ghosts and insecurities? ArthurXCharlotte
1. Prologue

**A Second Chance**

**_Prologue_**

The sun was high in the sky when he woke up. He doubted he could have felt any worse had an entire herd of cattle walked all over him. How had this happened? How had he survived yet again? He was supposed to be dead… A dozen times over. Yet his heart still beat and his whole body ached and his lungs still rattled; making him cough violently enough that he even found the energy to roll over.

'How…' Arthur wheezed. 'am I…not…dead?'

The disappointment hurt as much as breathing and every breath was agony.

For a second, he contemplated just lying there until death took pity on him and carried him off. Surely it could not take long? But then, seeing as he was already on his stomach, he figured he might as well get on with it. He wasn't sure where he was finding the strength, yet it was there nonetheless, just enough to keep him going. Well, he had always been a stubborn old goat.

Still, he suspected, maybe not as much of a goat as he needed to be to get down that damned rock in one piece. Not before winter, at least. Either way he had no choice but to try. He was living on borrowed time already so, if he died trying, it would be no real loss.

And to think he had given all of his things to John… All he owned… And his hat! Well, at least he got to keep a couple guns… Not that they would make the slightest difference as he dragged his practically dead body down hard ground and slippery slopes.

'Why?' he raged breathlessly, earning himself another agonizing coughing fit for his efforts. 'Why am I not dead?!'

XXX

Once he reached soft ground again, night was already falling, he sat at the bottom of a tree and stayed there. He had no strength left. Maybe now, he mused, maybe now he'd _finally_ die… Then he coughed lightly, wheezing and cringing in pain, and closed his eyes.

XXX

He woke up to the early morning sunshine and a stranger bent over him. Had he been in better shape, Arthur might have felt surprised enough to shout or, much more likely, annoyed enough to put a bullet between the fellow's eyes.

'Are you all right, mister?' the man asked as Arthur tried and failed to hold back another cough.

'I'm fine.' His growl came out as more of a whine, forcing him to repeat himself. 'I'll be fine.'

'You don't look fine at all, mister. In fact, you look like you've taken quite a beating.'

_Tell me something I don't know_, Arthur thought and let out a chuckle that he immediately regretted, as it transformed into a series of coughs followed by more wheezing. God, the pain. Maybe he _had _died. Surely this was hell and he was already paying for his crimes?

'I'll be fine, mister.' He echoed after a moment.

'If you say so…'

But there was a decency in that man… A goodness that even a blind man would have been able to see, and Arthur knew he would be back sooner rather than later. Perhaps with help even. He wondered when he had become so lucky, or _un_lucky as it was.

XXX

Again he woke up; this time to the sounds of an approaching wagon. He could barely open his eyes. Now he _knew _the end was near. It _had _to be. There was just not an ounce of strength left in him.

'Sorry to bother you again, mister.' The same curious fellow was leaning over him suddenly. He must have dozed off between hearing the wagon and now. The stranger went on: 'But my German friends here thought they might know you.'

Arthur wanted to laugh. What the devil was going on with the world? Why did everyone want to help him out of the blue? And had the German folk not picked him up on the road once before? Weren't they all even by now? And couldn't they learn some damn English already? He could hear them talking hushed and urgently amongst themselves. It sounded a lot like they were making space for him on the wagon.

_Oh, what do I care?_ He thought angrily. The truth was he had no way to do a thing about it. He was just sorry he'd be dying on these good people's hands…

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I know the idea of Arthur surviving after all that went on is simply ludicrous, but I was too in love with these characters when I finished the game to simply let them go. I hope the British spelling of the occasional word does not take from the American soul of the story. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter I

**_Chapter I_**

'Ah! The German family's guest.' The shopkeeper greeted him as soon as Arthur crossed the threshold. 'Still can't remember your name, mister?'

'Err… No.' he doffed his new – donated – hat. Annesburg seemed to have nurtured a very solidary community since the mining had first begun. Maybe if he hadn't been running around shooting people at Dutch's behest, whilst trying to keep a low profile, he might have paid more attention. 'Not yet.' He added, trying to sound optimistic. He had not wanted to use any of his old aliases, and he'd been too weak to come up with a decent new name when they'd found him, so he'd just told them he couldn't remember.

'A cruel thing memory loss.'

'Is it now? Can't even tell if things was better or worse before.' Even as he said them, Arthur knew those words to be true.

'Yeah… Guess you can't. So what's it gonna be today?'

'Just some bait.'

'Plan to go huntin', do ya? Are you sure you're…' the shopkeeper gestured vaguely; awkwardly.

'Yeah… I can still remember how to hunt.'

'Some things you just never forget… No matter how hard you try to.' The register slid open only to be banged back shut. 'So what're you huntin'?'

'Elk, I guess. Or a moose.' He shrugged. 'Need to repay them Germans for all they've done for me. Somehow.'

'I hear ya, partner. Though I reckon you needn't do a thing for them. They say you saved their lives.'

'Yeah, but they'd repaid me for that already. So, as I see it, now I'm in _their _debt.'

'Well… If that's how you feel, then I hope you kill that elk, mister.'

'We'll see. Thank you.'

The day was cold, but sunny and Arthur was looking forward to a ride and some hunting. Maybe he could stop by old Hamish's place… He'd always thought that'd be the perfect place to spend the remainder of one's days. He'd never thought he'd have the opportunity to choose where and how he spent the remainder of _his _days though. Now that he did, he could not help but wonder if Hamish had left the deed to the place somewhere inside the cabin.

First, he'd ride all the way to Doverhill, however; he'd found a moose near there once that was unlike any he had seen before and he reckoned, if he found another, he'd make enough money to pay all he owed the German family. They'd be even once more and he would finally be free – truly free – to move on. Maybe stay at Hamish's cabin, maybe not… Maybe look up Mary, maybe not… _Best _not. He'd messed up her life enough already. He'd had his chance with her and wasted it; she deserved better. And, for once, perhaps maybe he did too.

XXX

When he heard the report of a repeater in the distance, he immediately wished he had just died on that damned rock. If he'd died then he would've died in peace, knowing he had tied all loose ends and that he didn't owe anyone anything. Now, _now_ he had a debt to repay and so he was forced to fear for his life once again. Lately, there had always been _something, _some reason or other why he had to cling to life with tooth and nail… Making sure John made it safe back to his family, saving Abigail from Milton and returning her to Jack, conveying to Dutch the truth about Micah, then making sure John made it safe back to his family _again_. When it had all just ended, Arthur had been relieved.

'I should've just died.' He grumbled, calming the old nag the German had lent him. A bulky Belgian draft called Bertha.

There were no more reports and they resumed their journey in peace. He planned to camp by the river, amidst the evergreens past the railroad. There were some good fish up there as well and he'd need a decent meal if he meant to keep up his strength for the next day's hunt. Unless, he got lucky and found worthy game on his way there, then he'd be needing a celebratory dinner.

Another shot resonated in the wilderness around him, sending birds flying. Should he investigate? He wondered… Maybe that was where the hunting was. Or maybe he'd be heading in the direction of trouble; trouble he could no longer afford, not only because he had a debt to pay, but because he was still too weak to dash about dodging bullets.

As if sensing his indecision, his feeble lungs made sure to send up a wave of rattling coughs and remind him that he still had one foot in the grave, even if the rest of him had miraculously managed to climb back out for the time being.

'What do you think, girl?' Bertha chewed on her bit, making the harness clink. 'Yeah... We stick to our path then.'

XXX

He spotted a moose just as dawn broke. He'd woken up early and downed two large mugs of coffee to ward off the sleepiness. It seemed the effort had paid off.

It was not as big or rare as the last one, but it would have to do. The animal stood across the river from him, blowing steam into the cool mountain air. With the sun making its slow appearance, the whole place was suddenly covered in a thin layer of mist and Arthur felt grateful for once; that he'd lived and been allowed to witness another sunrise like this.

He did not dare approach much, but crouched just behind the first line of trees and raised his rifle. Fighting fiercely what would surely have been a wrecking bout of coughs, he prepared to shoot. He only had this one chance; he was in no condition to give chase and neither, he suspected, was old Bertha.

The recoil of the German's hunting rifle nearly knocked him on his back. Maybe he still wasn't strong enough to hunt, if he ever would be again… His kill lay motionless, however, right where it had fallen at the edge of the water. It clearly told a different story.

By the time Arthur had managed to drag a still-sleepy Bertha across the water; the disease making him cough softly along the entire way, he could hear a rustle in the underbrush. Instinctively, he pulled out his sidearm and waited.

He should have known it was she all along. He berated himself for not having visited her, but – with everything that had been going on – Charlotte had completely slipped his mind.

'I should've known it would be you hunting in my turf.' She lowered her rifle with a smile. She always looked pleased to see him and that made him happy.

'Hello, Mrs Balfour.' he gave her a smile of his own as he holstered his gun. 'How're you doing?'

'I'm doing very well actually. I've even enough to trade with a merchant, who comes this way from Annesburg every other week. Apparently they're building quite a nice place out there.'

'Yeah, I… I'm staying there.'

'Are you now?' she sounded genuinely curious.

'For now…' he meant to stop there, but something about the way she looked at him had him confiding in her. 'I got my eye on a place near O'Creagh's Run.'

'Why? Don't you like Annesburg? Isn't it all they say it is?'

'No, it's certainly not all they say, Mrs Balfour. But it's good.' He nodded to himself, agreeing that 'good' really was the right word for it. Charlotte still seemed to be waiting. 'The people there are…very generous. Willing to help a fella in need. Even if he is a complete stranger.' He had not meant to sound so bitter, but the truth was he did not quite understand. He'd started helping others altruistically recently, but mostly because he'd thought he was as good as dead. These people he'd met in Annesburg though…

'Is that bad?' Charlotte nearly gave herself a crick, trying to catch his lost gaze.

'It's…It's fine.'

'Well, then that's just perfect, because it was a fine thing you did for me here, Mr Morgan.' She praised.

'Oh, that was hardly the same thing, Mrs Balfour.' His bashful protest immediately turned into a series of coughs. Charlotte waited and made no comment, for which he was grateful. 'You were all alone here. There was no one else who could help you, but in Annesburg!'

'Are you saying you wouldn't have helped me if there'd been someone else to do it?' she teased.

'That's usually the logic, Mrs Balfour.' Arthur shifted uncomfortably. He did not know why he felt so wrong when all he'd done was be honest with her. All he knew then was the heavy weight of her pensive eyes on him. She was probably the most educated woman he had ever met; a city-girl, and her scrutiny intimidated him somewhat.

At last, as he was assailed by yet another coughing fit, she glanced away, towards the falls. 'Will you be by yourself?' she piped up, just as the silence threatened to become permanent, and seeing his confusion added: 'At O'Creagh's Run.'

'Yes?' he had a vague notion of what she was really asking.

'There's no one?'

'There was.' He sighed, sparing a brief thought for Mary. 'I ruined it.' He admitted ruefully. 'It's too late now.'

Charlotte nodded quietly; she understood. 'I'm sorry if I'm being nosey, Mr Morgan. I just don't get many visitors up here and it gets lonely at times, ever since Cal passed… That and I consider you to be my friend. And, as your friend, I must tell you… You can always move here with me if you want. I've a spare bedroom, as you know, and you could help me hunt and sow; keep the place up and running.'

'Mrs Balfour, I…' he let out a chuckle, completely nonplussed, and had to make quite an effort to stop it turning into a spell of coughing. 'I don't even know if I've the strength to skin that moose there.'

'That's just what I mean, Mr Morgan.' She reasoned. 'We can help each other.'

'Well…'

'Do you promise me you will think about it?' her honest, earnest eyes trapped him.

'I… Ah…' even hesitating made him cough these days. 'I promise.'

'Well, then…' Charlotte slung the rifle on her back. 'Let me help you with that moose. And maybe you could take some things back to the shopkeeper in Annesburg for me? I'm in his debt.'

* * *

**A.N.:** Yes, I added a shopkeeper to Annesburg. I later realised I might have just used the gunsmith there, but... Oh, well. It's a growing settlement after all. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter II

**_Chapter II_**

As soon as he felt he'd paid all of his debts, Arthur packed the few clothes he'd been given, thanked his hosts profusely – he had the feeling that they understood most of what he said, which was a relief – and went on his way. They gave him Bertha and, though he refused to take her indefinitely and claimed he'd only be borrowing the mare until he could get a horse of his own, he knew he'd end up keeping her; she was just as old and stubborn as he was and loyalty somehow still meant everything to him.

Coughing and wheezing, he rode to O'Creagh's Run. Hamish's cabin was still just as he'd left it and, though he could not find the deed to the land, Arthur decided to stay anyway. At least for the time being.

He still thought about Charlotte's offer… For days after their meeting he'd been unable to think of anything else. She was right wanting to share the burden; he was a sick man and she was only one woman trying to keep a relatively big property. Even so, it wasn't all as simple as she made it seem…

For instance, Arthur feared he might prove a burden to her instead of the asset she thought he would be, if not right now then when his disease got worse, because it _would. _Then he worried about her safety… If the law knew he was alive, people would come looking for him; he was sure of it. He'd done his best to cover his tracks, except perhaps ask Charlotte not to call him by his real name to anyone, but there was no use crying over that now… Maybe, he hoped, knowing that he was sick they wouldn't waste time and money digging _him_ up.

'I hope John's as far from here as possible.' He mumbled to himself when the thought struck him, coughing his way through a cigarette.

As justified in his decision as he felt though, Arthur knew he owed Charlotte an answer; probably an explanation too. So, a couple weeks after he'd run into her, and just over a week after he'd got settled at O'Creagh's Run; with the sole intention of thanking her for everything she'd done for him in the short time since they'd first met, he saddled Bertha, packed some herbs, and rode to Willard's Rest.

XXX

It was pouring when he arrived; he had to pound on the door to be heard over the downpour. 'Mrs Balfour! Mrs Balfour!'

'Mr Morgan!' she gapped at him for a moment, once the door was open, before hurriedly stepping aside. 'Please, come in! I'll fetch you some dry clothes.'

'Ah, I'm not really that wet.' He chuckled sheepishly, but his feeble attempt to dissuade her went completely unheeded as she darted into the next room.

'Here. These should fit. We don't want you getting any sicker.' She told him quite seriously as she returned, bearing a bundle of clothes.

'Well… Then I guess I'll just…' he hesitated, motioning awkwardly towards the guest bedroom where he'd unintentionally ended up sleeping once, and was gone before she could look any more impatient. Damn women…

'Here. Bring your clothes near the stove so they'll dry.' Charlotte urged him as soon as he walked out. She'd just opened one of the heavy iron doors, revealing the burning fire inside. 'Then sit down, please, I've just finished heating up some rabbit stew.'

Still standing between the bedroom and the dining table, Arthur shifted from foot-to-foot, his humid clothes and hat in his hands. 'I've really just come to thank you, Mrs Balfour. For all you've done for me. I've brought you some ginseng I found growing near the cabin.' He fished the verdant leaves in his coat's pocket. Charlotte's face was a mix of surprise and confusion. Her burning hands brushed his frozen one gingerly as she accepted his offering. 'They say it's very good for your health.'

'Why… Thank you, Mr Morgan.'

'I wish I had some English mace to give you too, but it's near impossible to find it around these parts.'

'English mace?'

'Yeah, I knew this Indian chief who taught me that mixing those two herbs makes a very good remedy.'

Charlotte sighed wistfully. 'You must have led quite an exciting life, Mr Morgan.'

'Well…' Arthur ran a nervous hand through his hair; he could feel the heat returning to his cheeks. 'I guess you could say that.'

'Please.' She extended her hand towards the table again, this time calm and quietly. 'Just while your clothes dry. The rain should be stopping anytime too.'

'If you insist.'

'Maybe you could tell me more about that Indian chief?'

XXX

Time seemed to fly by as they sat there at the table. Even when their plates had been scraped clean, they still lingered – under the guise of waiting for the rain to pass – and slowly but steadily polished half a bottle of brandy. Arthur told her about Eagle Flies and Rains Fall. He left most of the gory violent bits out, making it sound more as if he'd been a spectator or heard the story from one of the actual characters than as if he'd actually played a part in it himself. He could tell, by Charlotte's all-seeing eyes though, that she knew better.

'So you've moved to that cabin you'd mentioned? By O'Creagh's Run?' finally pushing away from the table, she crossed to a map of New Hanover and adjacent states, which she'd hung on the wall beside the door. Arthur could vaguely see markings on the map, especially in the area surrounding her place and down the Kamassa River, a bit like he used to mark relevant locations on his own map. He hoped it'd serve John well…

'It's just west of here.' He said despite the fact that she seemed to have already found it.

'It's in Ambarino.'

'Yeah, but it's close.' He wasn't sure why he'd said that, so he pressed-on. 'Place belonged to a fella I met once. A war veteran. Decent man. I was with him when he died… Thought he might have left a deed to the place behind…'

'And did he?' Charlotte spun back to look at him.

'Nah. Not really. Maybe he didn't even have one.'

'So you're a squatter now?'

'Err… Sorta. I suppose.'

'Mm. Your clothes have almost completely dried!' She patted his clobber which she'd thrown over a chair by the slightly ajar fire door. 'My invitation still stands, Mr Morgan.'

With an attractive woman carefully folding his shirt in front of a warm fire, it seemed almost irresistible for – even though at times he felt barely alive – he was still a man. Not, of course, that he believed Charlotte had implied anything unworthy by her invitation, yet he could not help thinking it and remembering that his body had been permanently damaged by his illness; it was not exactly a body one could be proud of anymore.

'You hardly know me, Mrs Balfour.' Was what he finally said, shaking his head plaintively, then coughed lightly. 'Besides… What would other people say?'

'I'm sure plenty of single and widowed women employ men to work in their properties, Mr Morgan.' She reasoned equably. 'And I don't care what other people think either way. Practically no one rides all the way here… Except for the occasional outlaw turned hunter.' She joked and yet, at the same time, made sure he _knew_; despite all his secrecy, he'd been unable to hide everything from her. 'At times I feel I see you even more clearly than you see yourself… And I'll get to know you better if you let me… But it's your decision. I've already said my piece.' With a smile, she handed back his clothes.

'I'll…think about it.' He promised and prepared to walk into the guest bedroom. It was all in his head, he kept telling himself; he was a wasted dying man. And, regardless of Charlotte's purposes, he had no intention of accepting her invitation. He was doing fine as he was.

* * *

**A.N.:** I know there's a fire place in Charlotte's living room, but I figured she needn't have both the fire place _and _the stove running at once, unless it was winter, so... I don't know. I guess that's the only note I have for this chapter. As usual, thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter III

**_Chapter III_**

One morning, just as he'd poured himself a mug of coffee, Arthur looked through the window and spotted a group of three men in suits. He immediately took cover, but all the possibilities were suddenly racing across his mind. There were two scenarios which worried him the most though… The law coming after him and the rightful owners deciding to reclaim the place.

Half-hidden behind a curtain he watched the strangers warily; they stood a good distance away from the cabin, chatting quietly and, occasionally, gesturing his way. But was it really _his _way? Or could they be pointing at something beyond the house? Arthur could not see if they were armed, yet he knew, even if he did not want to admit it, that they were dressed too smartly to be mere hunters.

Soon they were gone, but the image of them solidified, like a picture being developed, in Arthur's mind.

XXX

The doctor had told him two things on the day of his diagnosis: that it'd only get worse and that if he meant to live a little longer he should take it easy; he never told Arthur the disease would come and go, that at times he would feel almost healthy again. Not that the 'almost-healthy' moments hadn't grown steadily worse as well… They had. Still, Arthur hopped from being mildly sick to extremely sick and back again, and he suspected the waves of extreme sickness were somehow related to him getting worried or upset; that's why he blamed those three besuited strangers for the fever that assaulted him a couple days later.

He coughed and sweat all night, tossing and turning on the bed. The pain in his chest was so bad none of the tonics or concoctions he'd made or stocked seemed able to help. He fell asleep just as the sun's first rays snuck into the cabin, certain that if he was still too weak to get up by the time he awoke then this would definitely be the end.

But it was not to be.

Whatever invisible force was keeping him in this world was once more at work and, though he was still weak, cold and in pain, he managed to traipse to the kitchen area and have some canned food. Afterwards, he collapsed on one of the chairs and there he stayed for hours just trying to breathe. It was agony. It made him wish – not for the first time – that he had died on that damn rock. It seemed there was nothing left for him in this world but pain and suffering anyway…

Except an unexpected knock on his door, which jerked him awake, came to prove him wrong. 'Mr Morgan?' Charlotte's voice called when there was no answer. And to think he'd been certain he was about to get arrested or, if he was lucky, shot on the spot. She knocked again. 'Mr Morgan?'

He hauled himself to his feet once more. By the look on her face when she saw him, he must have made a very sorry sight; wrapped in fur, pale and wheezing. 'Mrs… Balfour.' He gasped.

'I…came to pay you a visit.' She wavered.

'I'd…' his lungs just did not seem to fill all the way in, leaving him too short of breath to string two words together. 'invite…you in…but…' at last he finished with a painful smile and a shudder.

'There's no need.' The unstoppable determination, which had seized her the other day, was suddenly back. Charlotte smiled at him in a way no one had ever smiled before and, as he faltered, she laid a hand on his arm and guided him back in. 'I'll make myself at home. You just lie down and rest and don't worry about a thing.'

Too weak to argue, least of all care that she was seeing him so fragile and vulnerable, Arthur went back to bed and watched, slightly mortified, as she tucked him in. He couldn't remember being in this position since he was a very small child, if ever. 'How…' he croaked, trying to ward off the awkwardness. 'How did…'

'Oh! I rode.' Charlotte twinkled at him over her shoulder; already banging pots and pans around the tiny kitchen. 'I thought it was about time I got myself a horse. Well, he's really more of a pony… Do you still have any of that ginseng you brought me?'

'No… 'S over…'

'That's all right. I'll just make you a good stew and you'll feel like new. How long has it been since you last ate?'

He wondered… It had been early morning when he got up and now the sun was… He couldn't be sure. 'Long.' He coughed.

'Very well.' In two steps she was beside him again, laying a cool and gentle hand on his forehead. The tenderness of the gesture made his throat feel even tighter. 'I think your fever's breaking… Just rest. I'll be right back.'

He knew he should have told her to leave. What if those men he'd seen were Pinkertons? He could be in danger… _She _could be in danger. But her presence was as soothing and reassuring as a balm over a burn, and he was exhausted. So he promised himself it would be only for one day, only until he felt a bit more like himself.

'Yeah…' he muttered with conviction and, relieved by the thought that Charlotte would soon be back, drifted off to sleep.

XXX

'Mr Morgan…' Charlotte shook him lightly by the shoulder. 'Dinner's ready. Would you like me to bring it here to you or will you come to the table?'

'I'll…' he coughed and had to turn away to spit, but his voice came out stronger and his body – though still sore – no longer pained him as much. 'I'll come…to the table.' As she moved away, he added. 'Arthur, Mrs Balfour… Arthur's fine.'

'Well, then you can call me Charlotte.'

He swung his legs off the bed and took a moment to breathe, trying to fill his lungs to their maximum capacity. There had been a significant improvement from the last couple of days, yet every time he fell ill his breath seemed to suffer a permanent reduction. As if his lungs were being consumed bit by bit, like the lights of a house being turned off one room at a time.

To Charlotte he nodded. 'Fair enough.'

'It's fish and vegetable soup.' She put down two plates once he'd collapsed on one of the chairs.

'Thank you.' He exhaled.

'I couldn't find anything worth hunting around the lake so I decided to fish. I borrowed your rod, I hope you don't mind.'

'Some days…I look…through the window…and see elk…crossing the lake.'

'I guess this was _not _one of those days then.' She laughed.

'Too much activity…around the lake.'

They ate the rest of their meal in companionable silence. Though he may have felt better, eating and speaking all at once remained too much of an ordeal. When Charlotte stood up to take their empty plates to the sink, Arthur glanced through the window and realised, despite the closed curtains, just how dark it had grown outside. Even in those nights when the moon was full and bright it was still dark; on this cloudy night the world had turned pitch black.

'You won't be able to go home now.'

Pausing in her dish washing, she followed his gaze. 'I didn't plan to. Not before I'm sure you're well enough to be by yourself.'

Suddenly guilty and uncomfortable he pushed away from the table. 'There's some…camping gear…in the chest…' he said slowly as he slogged back to the bedroom area.

'Do not even think about giving up your bed for me.' She beat him to it. 'I can sleep on a bedroll just fine. I'm younger than I look.'

'Feistier too.' Arthur could not help pointing out. Charlotte's eyes glinted with mirth and suddenly they were both laughing quietly. Of course his brief moment of levity turned into a quaking bout of coughing. She braced him, a hand on his back and another on his arm, then urged him back into bed.

'Back to bed with you, mister. I can find everything I need myself.'

'Never doubted it.' He grumbled, making her smile widen further.

It was with that sight in mind that he lay in bed, the feeling of her gentle yet firm hands on him lingering until he fell asleep.

XXX

'I worry about you, Arthur.' Charlotte swerved around to look at him. She'd just finished clearing the remnants of a late breakfast of biscuits, crackers and coffee, and now leaned back against the counter while he remained at the table. 'All alone out here…'

'I'll be fine, Mrs Bal… _Charlotte_.' He assured her good-naturedly. Now, that he was somewhat recovered, her presence began to amuse rather than disconcert him, and – though she may have seemed intimidating in her house – they were in his turf this time.

She fidgeted, clearly unconvinced. 'You're my friend! And you've done _so much _for me. Let me repay you, Arthur. Please.'

Seeing her distress, he almost relented, but not quite. He wasn't ready to give up on his freedom just yet. 'You've done more than enough for me already.'

'I don't feel like I have. What you did for me that day… I know you said you wouldn't have helped me if there'd been anyone else to do it, but I know you would have. You think too little of yourself. If you really were that man, you could have easily convinced yourself that someone else would come along and left me, yet you didn't and I've no words to express what that meant to me. That's why I want to help you. Please, Arthur.'

He sighed. She had quite a way with words… And a determination he was beginning to grow familiar with. Taking his silence as a refusal, she struck again whilst the iron was hot. 'What will you do the next time you get this sick?'

'Probably die.' He sniggered facetiously.

'Probably die.' Charlotte nodded gravely.

'I've dug my grave, Mrs… Charlotte. Sooner or later I'll have to lie in it.'

'But it doesn't have to be right _now_.'

'Makes little difference if it's now…' he coughed lightly. 'Or later.'

'It does to me.' Her wide tearful eyes sent a pang straight to his heart. The amusement waned and faded and his jaw clenched shut. 'When you're gone I'll be truly alone. I'll have no one else.'

Unable to meet her eyes, he turned instead to the window, feeling the weight of her words settle in his chest. It was as if he could still see them there… Three men in fancy suits. They had ruined the view for him. He could see them loitering, chattering, sometimes pointing, their eyes predatorily fixed on the cabin. Soon they'd be back for real, whoever they were; Arthur knew so.

'Very well.' He met Charlotte's stout gaze with one of his own. 'Just give me a couple of days to put things in order.'

'And you'll be moving in with me?' she stuttered, shocked by his sudden change of heart. Though she'd been intent on convincing him she'd never truly believed she could.

'If the offer still stands…'

'For you?' she beamed. 'Always.'


	5. Chapter IV

**_Chapter IV_**

The next day, Arthur packed all of his things, cleaned up his weapons and waited. He'd decided to confront the besuited men; if they were lawmen he might go down fighting, and if they were the rightful owners of the place maybe he could convince them to let him leave in peace. But no one showed up. Not on that day, nor on the next. And so – because he'd told Charlotte a couple of days were all he needed – once it grew dark and quiet outside, he saddled Bertha and, making sure he was not being followed, left Hamish's cabin behind.

Charlotte received him in her nightgown and with a lantern in hand; the house was already dark and chilly. 'I thought you'd be coming in the morning.'

'Yeah…' he drawled. Luckily, she did not insist.

'How have you been?'

'As well as can be, I guess.'

He carried his few things inside and she guided him into the guest bedroom, lighting a second lantern for his use. 'This is _your _bedroom now.' Charlotte reminded him. 'So make yourself at home.'

'Thank you, err… Charlotte.' He doffed his hat, nodding humbly. It still felt odd, disrespectful even, calling her by her given name; she was educated and high class while he was… Well. He'd get used to it in time.

'I'll see you in the morning.' She smiled jauntily. 'Have a good night, Arthur.'

XXX

'Morning, Arthur.' Charlotte carolled as she stepped outside and found him smoking on the porch. 'You're up early. Did you sleep well?'

'Yes.' He coughed. 'Thank you. Just eager to get started on whatever you've got for me today.'

With a chuckle she accepted the cigarette he was offering and bent over so he could light it for her. 'Maybe you should take it easy for another day or so.'

'Nah. Being idle would only make me feel worse.'

'Well…' she took a drag on her cigarette. 'You _are _a man of action.'

'Where would you like to start?'

'With breakfast would be nice.'

'After that then.' He chuckled at her vehemence.

'We should probably start with the tool shed. I got the horse, as you can see, but there's no decent place to keep the tack and the feed. And now we have your horse's tack and food to store as well.'

He peeked at the mismatched pair. Bertha, the old lazy glutton was nearly twice the size of Charlotte's palomino pony and he was a frisky jaunty thing. Life had a way of bringing together the most unlikely of individuals, and yet it seemed to be from the most unimaginable combinations that the rarest of bonds were born.

'What's funny?' Charlotte elbowed him as she snubbed out her cigarette.

His smile broadened and he made a wide, vague gesture. 'Just…life.'

'How did we end up here?' she translated quizzically.

'Something like that.' Arthur nodded, then froze as he realised just how close they were sitting, suddenly he noticed all the tiny details on her face… The way her eyes wrinkled slightly at the corners when she smiled and how dark and thick her eyelashes were.

If Charlotte was aware of his scrutiny though, she did not show. 'You should probably quit those.' She nodded at the pack of cigarettes sitting on his other side. 'It can't be good for you; having smoke in your lungs.'

'The doc didn't say anything.' He argued with a sceptic frown. 'I'm pretty sure it's the other way around.'

'Well, it could be.' She shrugged amiably and stood up. 'I'll make us some breakfast so we can get started on that shed.'

'I'll have a look at it already, if you don't mind.'

'Not at all! Go right ahead. You must know a lot more about tool sheds than I do anyway. Maybe you could give me some ideas? For a renovation, I mean.'

'About tool sheds? Oh, I highly doubt that I do.' He laughed.

XXX

When they finally paused for a late lunch, a pile of old rotting timber, rusty tools and mouldy horse tack had formed on the grass by the shed. They'd even found an old dust-covered chest full of knick-knacks, mostly children stuff; wooden toys, a leather ball and even a china doll that must have been worth a pretty penny back in the day… Once beloved things, now unwanted and forgotten.

It had drizzled throughout the morning yet, as they settled at the porch to eat, the sun shone bright and the grass sparkled with tiny drops of water. While he sat, waiting for Charlotte to heat up whatever she had concocted this time, Arthur felt his lips kink up and realised this levity he'd been feeling could only be peace. But for how long? He wondered.

'Cal and I did mean to clear the shed.' Charlotte was back with two plates of stew, half a bread roll at each of their edges. She sounded defensive. 'We just never got around to it.'

'I ain't judging, Mrs —. Charlotte.'

She sniggered lightly at the blunder he insisted on making. 'I'm sorry. I know you're not that kind of man, but I felt I needed to say something.'

'It's fine. I understand.'

'I'm sorry it's stew again too.' When she apologised the second time, Arthur was already half-way through his plate. 'I never used to cook before I got married… We had a housemaid and cook at my parents' place. It was actually my husband who taught me most of what I know. He used to say I cooked better than he did, but even so stew and soup are really all I'm good at making.'

'Well, I only know how to cook meat over a fire. I could never make a stew as good as this.' He raised his empty plate both as thanks and to show her just how good he thought it was. Charlotte flushed with pleasure. 'Maybe tomorrow we could go hunting and then I'll make us dinner for a change.' He offered tentatively.

'I'd love that, Arthur.'

He cleared his throat and coughed, but the fuzzy warm feeling that blossomed in his chest at the sight of her earnest smile only grew and spread.

XXX

'Looks like you've got a few leaks here, Charlotte.' Arthur informed her as they stood inside the emptied shed the following morning. The hay which had once been spread over the dirt floor had darkened and rotted in some spots more than in others.

She approached and, bracing herself with a hand on his shoulder, stood at the very tips of her boots to inspect the damage closer. She barely seemed to notice the gesture, yet he'd feel her weight the rest of the day as if she were permanently leaning on him. 'You're right.' She tsked as she bounced back on the balls of her feet, then quizzed: 'Have you ever fixed a roof, Arthur?'

'Can't say I have, no.'

'Would you like to learn? Cal and I patched up the main house's roof right after we moved here. You can't even notice, can you?'

'You did a fine job.' He conceded, joining her outside where they could admire her handiwork.

'We should still have some timber and nails left… I hope it'll be enough.'

'Maybe we should go huntin' before we get started though.'

'You're right. The shed can wait. Dinner comes first. Would you saddle the horses?'

'Sure.'

'I'll go get our weapons.'

Bertha was easy enough to approach; her sluggishness overcame the impulse she had to flee, and he quickly fastened the head collar around her head and led her to the porch where they were temporarily keeping all the horse tack. Charlotte's still unnamed pony soon followed, reluctant to be left alone even in familiar ground. Arthur seized the opportunity to head collar and hitch him too.

'Maybe we could ride further west…' he commented distractedly when Charlotte reappeared. She paused, eyeing him quizzically. 'I'd love to have a good mutton leg, and you could make a stew with the leftovers.'

She stood there at the porch for a moment as she made sense of his proposal, but then her face lit up. 'I should pack up some bread and canned food for lunch then. We probably won't be back before dinner… Oh, and cheese! We've a wedge or two left.'

And, as she disappeared excitedly inside the house, Arthur turned back to the horses with a smile. 'S gonna be a fine day.' He confidently assured them.

XXX

As they reached O'Creagh's Run though, Arthur realised that maybe riding so far west hadn't been a wise idea… Maybe, in his case, riding anywhere was a bad idea. There could be people looking for him and the last thing he wanted was to put Charlotte in danger. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

'Charlotte.' He reined Bertha in; she might require a lot of coaxing to get moving, but stopping was a whole other story. 'Perhaps we should head back.'

'But we've only just left.' She turned her gelding around and met Arthur's eyes with a frown. 'Are you alright?'

'I'm fine. It's just…' but how could he explain it to her? How could he possibly tell her about the horrible things he had done, and about how that meant he wasn't entirely free to come and go as he pleased anymore? And it was fair too… All of the punishment that came his way; the law at his heels, losing a son, the tuberculosis, Mary giving up on him, the gang – the only family he'd ever known – falling apart, then being betrayed by Dutch…

'Arthur?'

'It's something else.' He said at last, coughing.

'Are you sure you're feeling well? I'll understand it if—.'

'I know.' He made sure to give her a smile, albeit tiny, which showed just how grateful and appreciative he was of all she had done for him. 'I'm fine.'

'Alright then.' Charlotte's hands, which had been grasping the pommel of her saddle, dropped down. Arthur knew she had been looking forward to this, he had sensed her enthusiasm, and he felt he owed her a better explanation.

'I'm just trying to keep you safe.' he crooned, holding her gaze.

'So what would you have us do?'

'Let's head back to the river. We can hunt something on the way. An elk, maybe a deer. Or we can ride back to the house and fetch our fishing rods… And we'll, err… Have our picnic. As, err… As you'd intended us to.'

At that she cheered up, if because she was looking forward to their outdoorsy lunch or if because she thought his discomfiture amusing, he would never know. 'Race you back to the house?'

'Race?!' his chuckle came out as a cough. 'I'll be lucky to get this mare trotting again.'

Charlotte cantered ahead, trailing laughter after herself.

XXX

Arthur had seen the remains of many a picnic… Food strewn on muddy ground, the bodies of happy families left to rot as bandits searched for anything worth taking. He'd never been one of the criminals, not in such cases anyway; yet he'd always been too late to be the hero either. Except, perhaps, in the case of that German family whose gratitude seemed to have no end. Usually, however, he played the role of avenger. Or used to. Now, as he watched Charlotte lay a towel on the pebbly ground, he felt it was more likely that they be the victims. Not that he didn't have at least one arm at the ready.

'Don't look so suspicious.' She teased. 'It's just a piece of chequered cloth and a basket of food.'

'Err… You're right.' He nodded and dropped down beside her with a grunt.

She broke a piece of bread, then cut a slice of cheese for herself and another for him while he opened a can of peaches. The opener she'd provided him with was dull and rusty and he struggled. When he finally put the opened can down on the towel, Charlotte was studying him pensively. She must have noticed the wary glances he sent the tree lines from time to time.

'Is it a bear we're watching out for?' she carolled, knowing very well that it wasn't.

'A bear?' Arthur looked around again, wondering if he might have missed something.

'I'm sorry, Arthur. I don't mean to pressure you. I just thought it might be easier for you to keep me safe if I knew what to look out for myself.'

For a long moment, he watched her. She was completely calm and collected, distractedly slicing her half of the bread into even round pieces. Her haphazardly bound hair fell in wisps around her face, framing it delicately. Now that he thought on it… Everything about her seemed so dainty and fragile, and yet he of all people knew how resilient and determined she truly was. It seemed to him then that she was strong enough to handle everything, even the truth.

'You're right.'

'As usual.' She smirked, making him laugh.

'Yeah… I suppose.'

'Oh, come on, Arthur. I'm _always _right and you know it.'

'Well… I've only been here two days.'

Charlotte chuckled. 'Very well, so _what _are we watching out for?'

'Lawmen.' He said gravely. 'Bandits too, I guess.'

'Lawmen?'

'Yep.'

'And you think they'd harm me too? Just because I'm with you?'

He sighed. 'You don't know these people.'

She took a bite out of her bread and watched him. He was impressed by her ability to look both intimidating and innocent all at the same time. Fighting back another sigh, he averted his gaze. 'It's a loooong story.' He coughed.

'A good thing we're going fishing after this then.'

Arthur was convinced she could handle the truth, yet he wasn't sure how she would react when she'd heard all of it… Would she turn him in? Would she shoot him? Send him on his way? Or, worst of all, would she look at him as if he were a stranger, with disgust and incredulity in her eyes?

He poured himself a dose of whisky and decided that that choice was no longer his to make. Let her be the judge, the jury and the executioner. Whatever she deemed fit to do at the end, he would accept it, because he knew there was no sentence too harsh in his case.

* * *

**A.N.:** I'm making the assumption here that the events in the game all happened between spring and early-mid autumn, so this story would start at that point. Just a technicality. And, on another note, it was only around 1950 that the evils of smoke came to light. Before that some brands even claimed they were prescribed by medicos, so Charlotte's ahead of her time here. Anyway, thanks for your support!


	6. Chapter V

**_Chapter V_**

He welcomed the distraction that fishing provided as he told her his story. At first, she'd pretended or tried to fish herself, but then ended up putting away her rod and giving him her undivided attention. There were times when he chanced a glance at her, but Charlotte's face betrayed naught of what she thought or felt.

By the time he finished, he'd caught only a couple of fish that he'd deemed worth keeping. He reeled his line in and carefully put the fishing rod, which he had brought with him from Hamish's, away. The silence stretched between them, but Arthur felt strangely numb, worn out, and so he did not bother breaking it. As the sun set, it cast shadows over them, making it impossible for him to tell, just by looking at her, what Charlotte was thinking. He quietly waited for her to mull over all that he'd said.

'It's never too late to repent.' She at last raised her eyes to meet his and, even in the dusk, he saw her blink back tears. For him? He wondered. Why? He did not deserve her tears… He'd only reaped what he'd sown. Oblivious to his qualms, Charlotte continued. 'I think what you did was admirable. Sacrificing yourself…for others…'

Arthur coughed. 'I only did it…'

'Cause you were already dying?' she smiled ruefully.

'Yeah…'

'Maybe getting sick changed your perspective.' Charlotte conceded. 'But you'd never have done it, if you didn't have it in you to begin with.' The smile she gave him then was so bright it seemed to chase the darkness away for a moment. 'There is goodness in you, Arthur Morgan.'

And because her words resonated so with Mary's words, he didn't have the heart to doubt nor question her. Perhaps, he grasped at the straws, perhaps he could believe them himself.

'You're a very good story teller.' She commended when everything had already been put away and they were nearly ready to go back to the house.

'Err… I've had some practice.' He dismissed the laurels sheepishly.

'How so? Have you told your story to many nosy ladies?'

'I'd have hanged a long time ago if I had. And everyone else with me.' Arthur offered his hand to help the _one _lady, who had had the honour of hearing his tale of woe from beginning to end. They were naught but greyish ghosts in the early night now. 'I used to keep a journal. It's hardly the same, but it _is _practice.'

'I'm sure it is.' Charlotte smiled gently, taking a few heartbeats longer than necessary to let go of his hand. 'But why stop, Arthur? Why not keep writing?'

'Lost two of them journals…in quick succession. Took it that must be some sort of sign.' He watched her fold the towel deftly; her hands were but a blur and yet he could not help noticing the gracefulness and fluidity of their every move. 'Sides… What does a half-dead man have to say? Life's different now.'

She met his eyes, something akin to pity in her expression or maybe it was simply sadness. It was hard to be certain in the deepening gloom. 'Not quite as exciting?'

Arthur couldn't tell if she was asking or telling him either. Thankfully, she turned to walk back towards the house, not waiting for an answer. He picked up the fish bucket and the fishing rods and trod after her. Winter seemed to be taking its time coming and yet he knew they should already be stocking up on food. As if she had been reading his mind, Charlotte spoke.

'I was thinking of riding to Annesburg tomorrow, after we're done with the roof. To order some supplies delivered for the winter. Would you like to come with me? You could buy a few more clothes… New clothes and not hand-me-downs.'

'Nah… I think it's best I stay put for a while. I'll make do with the clothes I've been given. I've tried my luck enough already.'

'Yeah, you're probably right. But I'll bring you a catalogue just in case.' She beamed at him over her shoulder. He could see it even in the dark. 'You might need a good winter coat… I don't think any of Cal's will fit you.'

'S fine, Charlotte.'

'All right, then are you making dinner tonight?'

'Just don't expect nothing fancy like what you city girls eat in those foreign restaurants.'

Charlotte chuckled. 'Why, Arthur, I thought you'd said that was exactly what you were going to make me.'

'Yeah… In your dreams maybe.'

XXX

The next morning found them on the roof of the shed, there were three major spots where the wood had rotted or splintered and, after explaining to Arthur what he needed to do and helping him take all he was going to need up to the roof, Charlotte left for Annesburg.

'Don't wait me for lunch. I may be a while.' She shouted as she left the property.

Arthur watched her until her horse's steady trot carried her beyond his line of sight and behind the trees. It felt awkward being alone there… In _her _house. He kept having to remind himself that this was _his_ home now too, but that feeling was just as alien. When he'd been alone in Charlotte's house before, right after passing out on her, he'd been too mortified to think about anything other than leaving… As fast as he could and before she came back. He thought he'd never again be able to face her after that, yet he found himself returning to Willard's Rest one day, wanting to see her, to know how she was doing…

Soon after that, the gang had descended into complete chaos and he had all but forgotten about her. Now, as he sat on the roof of her tool shed, watching the breath-taking scenery and listening to the distant roar of the waterfall and the chirping of birds, he wondered if – one way or another – he would have ended up here. Was this fate which had brought them together? Had things turned out different, would he still be here now? Or would he be in Guarma? Of one thing he was sure… No other place or woman could ever give him the same feeling of peace…and belonging.

It would just take some getting used to.

XXX

'Guess what's for dinner?' Charlotte sang from the stove when he sat at the table, warm and clean after a hard-earned bath.

'Fish stew.' He coughed lightly with mirth.

'However did you know?' she shared a smirk with him over her shoulder.

Arthur glanced around the room, noticing how cold it had grown; the heat of the cast-iron stove barely made it across the table where he sat. 'We'll need to stock up on firewood for the winter.'

'I know… I've delayed preparations for too long.' She sounded contrite.

'Ah, it'll be fine. We'll keep huntin' and fishin' for as long as we can, and stash all that canned food, plus whatever else we can save up, for a moment of need.'

'You think there'll be enough food for the horses? I didn't have enough to trade for more hay and feed…'

'We'll hunt something bigger soon and then you can go back to Annesburg and trade it for whatever we're missing.'

'I hope you're right.' Charlotte carried the heavy pot to the table, a tea towel protecting her hands as she grasped the handles. 'There. We can worry about winter preparations tomorrow. Now, let us enjoy our dinner.'

'Sure.'

It was a hearty meal and Arthur ate more than his fair share. Not that Charlotte seemed to mind, in fact she was the one to scoop stew into his plate both times. Perhaps, he mused admiring the small, practically permanent smile, which had settled on her lips, perhaps it felt good to have someone to cook for and share a meal with after being alone for so long. Not that it had been _that _long since her husband had died, but she must have missed him dearly all alone out there in the wilderness.

'I bought you something.' She jumped up as soon as he'd laid down his spoon and rushed to her bedroom. When she returned she could barely stop the grin from splitting her face in half.

'This is for me?' he accepted the package reluctantly, unsure of what to say. Not that he had never received a present in his life, it was just not a common occurrence, especially not in exchange for nothing.

'Won't you open it?'

The rectangular shaped parcel was wrapped in plain butcher's paper and carefully tied with string. He suspected Charlotte would have picked a better paper if there had been any in Annesburg, but he didn't particularly care. The gesture in itself was grand enough and he knew, before he'd even opened it, it was far more than he deserved.

Treating it as if it were a new-born baby, he laid the bundle on the table and tugged at the string before gently unfolding the paper. Charlotte was so eager for his reaction she nearly took over and unwrapped the gift herself.

It was a journal. And a very fine one at that; bound in soft smooth black leather. It didn't have a clasp, as his previous one had, but it was perfect nonetheless.

'I figured you shouldn't stop writing now. Not when you have a brand new life.' Charlotte could no longer contain herself. 'Do you like it?'

'Course I do! But…' he shook his head, still running his fingers over the cover like a blind man. 'I don't know what to say.'

She chuckled. 'Say "thank you".'

'So _that's_ why you couldn't afford the extra hay and feed.' He needled her playfully and was rewarded with a giggle. 'Writing always did make me happy.' Arthur thought aloud at last and something inexplicable brought a smile to his lips. He met her eyes and held them. 'Thank you, Charlotte.'

It felt like coming home.


	7. Chapter VI

**_Chapter VI_**

As the days grew gradually colder and shorter, they fell into a comfortable routine. On the days when they had planned to go hunting, they would leave at sunup, have a picnic for lunch and return at sundown for a hearty meal. They usually went together, in search of bigger game, but at times when Charlotte rode to Annesburg, or when Arthur woke up feeling a little too worse for wear, they would go alone and come back with a rabbit or a turkey.

On other days, they would sleep in, work at the property for a couple of hours then go fishing after lunch. They traded a good number of anecdotes during those days, laughing like people who did not know a single worry in life and indeed why shouldn't they? They led a quiet life away from civilisation – at least as far as one could manage to get from it in those days – and they had managed to stock enough food if the worst of the winter ever decided to make an appearance.

At night, once all the dishes had been cleaned, they'd sit by the fire. Sometimes they would talk, but more often than not they'd fall into a companionable silence. Charlotte would read a book, knit or darn a sock while Arthur wrote in his journal or drew. He did a lot more drawing during those days than actual writing, it seemed.

'You never told me you drew!' on one particularly long and tedious night, Charlotte caught him red-handed. She'd walked to the shelf to fetch them a pack of cigarettes and got a glimpse of his latest work; Bertha in the snow. 'May I?'

Accepting a smoke, he handed the leather bound notebook to her. 'Sure.' And then, just as he'd lit two cigarettes, one for each of them, he remembered why journals were meant to be private.

'Is this me?'

'Err… Yeah.' Arthur could not read her face. 'You may keep it if you like.'

'Is it really me?' Charlotte shot him an inscrutable glance before turning back to the paper, wide-eyed. 'But it looks so…so…_sensuelle_.'

'What's that?'

'It's French for… Err…beautiful and…and attractive.'

'Well… I draw it as I see it.'

'You're really good!' she praised after skimming through a couple more pages.

'I try.' Arthur watched her closely, between puffing smoke and coughing. The admiration in her voice and expression both flattered and disconcerted him.

'And this other woman?'

'That's unfinished. It's nobody.' He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray.

'It's _her, _isn't it?' Charlotte looked up but he wouldn't meet her glittery gaze. 'Your _someone_. The one you ruined things with.'

'You still remember all that? That's quite the memory you got.' But she wouldn't let his tart evasiveness dissuade her. She pulled up a chair and sat beside him, staring, waiting. At last, Arthur sighed. 'I can still see her in my head, but when I try to put that image on the paper… I used to have a picture of her. That's gone too; with the rest of my things. Perhaps… Perhaps that's for the best.'

'You know…' Charlotte smiled kindly at him. 'You told me all about your gang, about Hosea and John and Dutch… And yet, though I already know enough to tell what kind of man you are, you've told me very little about yourself, your story… You haven't told me a thing about _her_.'

'I don't…talk about 'er, Charlotte. It's better this way. And I guess it's good I can't draw her either. She belongs to another life now.'

'I understand.'

'Maybe if she'd died, like your Cal, it would've been easier talking about 'er.'

'Maybe.' She laid down the journal and ran a hand over the leather. 'If you ever decide to write it though – your story – know that I'd be happy to read it.'

'I'm sure you would.' He gave her his you-can't-fool-me laugh, genuinely amused and even a little embarrassed by her interest.

Charlotte stood up. 'Well, I'm off to bed then. Seems the snow has really come this time.' She added, glancing through the window. Outside the flakes fell steadily, further blanketing an already white world. 'Goodnight, Arthur.'

'My lady.'

XXX

With the official arrival of the season, it grew very cold and wet very fast, and – in his weakened state – Arthur felt the effects of winter like never before. Trudging through the snow wore him out in minutes, the damp cold seemed to penetrate his skin and resonate within his every bone, and no amount of shivering or clothes could drive it away. Charlotte insisted that he stay home on the coldest days, she claimed that they'd stocked up more than enough food and that, in an unlikely eventuality, she could always ride to the shopkeeper in Annesburg and negotiate. But, as stubborn as he was, he just couldn't sit in the house doing nothing, he wasn't an invalid after all.

'No, but your health isn't what it used to be.' She'd reminded him during one of her rare stern moments.

He knew she was right, how could he not? Yet he insisted on denying the severity of his disease. He had to push through; he had to make it… He needed Charlotte to see him as a man. And perhaps, if he had listened to her, she might have… For his insistence to keep working in that dreadful cold, surely enough, had him falling ill again.

As he shivered in bed the first night, struggling to keep the rocking coughs under control he tried to convince himself that it was just a false alarm. Mind over matter. Yet the more he thought about it, the worst he felt and, by the time the timid wintry sun finally came up, he could barely breathe so great was the pain.

He wondered how long it would take Charlotte to come looking for him… Then he forgot all about it and wished only for death, for his suffering to be over. He knew he'd done _a lot _of bad things but surely… _Surely_ he had paid for it all already?

As he fell in and out of sleep, there were moments when he heard her voice, felt her touch, and, even though he could not make out the words in his stupor, it still comforted him somewhat. Someone was looking after him so, whether he lived or died, everything would be all right.

XXX

'Char…lotte.' He croaked, finding her hovering over him.

'Oh… You're awake! But are you _truly _awake this time?'

'Truly…?'

'Yes, you…' she turned to the nightstand for a moment and, behind her, Arthur could hear the sound of water dripping on water. 'You've been awake a couple times before, but the fever made you delirious. You were here, but not _really _here.' She was dabbing his face with a cool cloth, his forehead, his hairline, his neck… 'It's broken now, I think. Arthur? Arthur. Don't doze off just yet. I know you're tired but eat something first. It'll help you get your strength back.'

It was hard staying awake… His eyelids were so heavy and breathing was still a lot of work, but the pain was gone and all he could feel was the warmth of the sheets and the refreshing coolness of his moistened skin. Until a violent bout of coughing had him doubling over. Charlotte was beside him in a moment with a basin for him to spit in. She never, not for a single second, looked disgusted or resentful yet, as he wheezed his breathing back under control, he could not help but feel unworthy of her attention.

'I'm…' he panted. 'Sorry.'

Helping him settle back against the pillows, she smiled the saddest smile he had ever seen. 'Don't be.' And then she held his gaze as she cupped his face and brushed his hair away from his forehead.

Too winded to express his gratitude in words, Arthur took her other hand, the one that had remained on her lap, and squeezed it. Something had changed, he realised, something big and important, something life altering.

'The soup!' she remembered suddenly and dashed back to the kitchen. 'I saved it. One minute longer…'

He watched her sit at the edge of the bed once more, carefully setting a silver tray on his lap. The drowsiness had lifted somewhat and, though he coughed almost without pause, he was able to finish the whole plate. The warmth and richness of the broth made him feel a lot better, so much so he attempted to speak.

'How long…' he rasped, his voice so raw and hoarse it was barely recognisable.

'Four days. You've been out for four days.' Charlotte put the tray away on the cabinet before returning to the bed and taking his hand in hers. The surprise must have been clear on his face. 'Today's the fifth.'

It was getting worse… The first time he'd passed out for minutes, then a day or two, now it was nearly a week. Not that he'd slept all of that time, he'd just been deliriously feverish, too much so to remember all the coughing he must have done and all the blood and phlegm his struggling lungs must have expelled. Somehow, putting Charlotte through that and not recalling a thing seemed even worse than dying alone in Hamish's cabin. Yet he knew there was no turning back.

'Arthur.' She squeezed his hand. 'Are you listening?'

What had she been saying? He wondered. Probably telling him how she'd warned him and how, if he had taken it easy as she'd told him to, this would never have happened. He knew she was right, of course, but he had been too busy trying to impress her and to convince himself that he was still man enough to deserve her. This had happened just to show… And, surely, it was sufficient a punishment. Yet, if he had to suffer through a lecture as well, he would do so bravely.

'Sorry.'

'I was telling you not to feel bad about this. It was bound to happen eventually.'

'Y'were?'

'Yes.' Charlotte nodded and, suddenly, a painful frown marred her features. 'With tuberculosiss…'

And, although she never finished, he knew what she was going to say… It was bound to happen again. With tuberculosis that was the inevitable course of things.

XXX

The snowfall, that had started with a vengeance while he was lying in bed battling his illness, covered the world in a heavy blanket of whiteness. There was a sad sort of beauty about it as if everything had ended in a burst of white and only they had been left behind. They…and their horses.

'The morning after the snowstorm, when I opened the curtains, all I could see was Bertha's rump.' Charlotte told him amidst laughs, as she poured him a cup of coffee, on his first trip to the kitchen in nearly a week.

'No wonder…' Arthur coughed between chuckles. '…the fella wanted rid of her.' But he could not disguise the fondness in his tone.

'You were meant for each other, I think.'

'Two old pig-headed mules.'

'That too. Though I was thinking more along the lines of you each having the patience to put up with the other's manias.'

'That's not patience, Charlotte.' He paused to cough again, yet he did not drop the smirk. 'That's plain stubbornness, as I said.'

'Well, then it's good stubbornness.' She twinkled at him. 'Of the kind I didn't know existed until you two came along.'

'Oh, I'm sure you did.' A few more coughs which he refused to let ruin the warm atmosphere between them. 'You're not entirely devoid of stubbornness yourself.'

Charlotte feigned an outrageous look. 'Since we're talking about _good _stubbornness, I'll take that as a compliment.'

'And you should.'

For a long moment they held each other's joyful gazes. Whatever was happening between them, wherever they were heading with it, they were both aware and conscious. Yet, if there was the need to say anything, to put it into words, neither of them seemed to think this was the right moment. But would it ever be right? Arthur wondered. And should they say anything? Should they cross that line? Caught in the lovely dark haired, green eyed, grinning present, he preferred not to dwell on it just yet.


	8. Chapter VII

**_Chapter VII_**

Recovery was slower than usual, yet with Charlotte's constant fussing Arthur was back on his feet sooner than he would have expected. He dreaded to think of what would have happened had he still been living alone in O'Creagh's Run. He'd have probably died, he mused, in the most unbecoming of ways and been left to rot until, one day, a wandering outlaw or a nosy local decided to break into the cabin and found his mummified corpse; as he had found so many himself during _his _wanderings. They were never a pleasant sight.

Despite him being recovered, there wasn't much to be done until the deep layers of snow outside had thawed a little. Besides, Charlotte insisted he do not go further than the porch and, because he did not dare risk falling ill again so soon, that's where he stayed as he watched her feed and water and brush the horses.

'You need to give that horse a name already!' he strained his voice so she would hear him and the effort made him cough.

Charlotte, who stood by the shed patting her gelding, stopped and gave the horse a long pensive look. 'Cal.' She grinned. 'I'll call him Cal.'

'You'd give your dead husband's name to a horse?' Arthur didn't know whether to feel amused or incredulous, yet he ended up chuckling either way.

'He would have liked it. He always loved animals and nature.'

'If ya say so…'

'Would you rather I called him Arthur?' she teased.

He snorted now definitely amused. 'You wouldn't wanna have two of us around. Trust me.'

'You know what? You may be right there. We already have Bertha so that'd make three of you.'

'That's very funny.'

Charlotte laughed. 'Why don't _you _name him then? You've always been a lot closer to your horses than I have been to mine.'

'Well…'

'You've been calling him something already. I heard you once. What was it?'

'Just "boy"… Or "sonny". A horse needs a name, you know.'

'Sonny is good, don't you think?' she was smiling fondly at the horse who threw her a somewhat suspicious glance then tried to nibble at her coat sleeve.

'I think he likes it.' Arthur laughed at her as she tried to push the playful and relentless Sonny away. He stopped for a second as if contrite, but then started nibbling at her hair as soon as she turned away.

'Oh! You…!' Charlotte made as if to slap him and the gelding recoiled, yet Sonny knew she did not really mean it for her laughter joined Arthur's. It rose and faded into the silence of the wilderness around them.

XXX

As the days went by, Arthur began to notice Charlotte sending him messages, or so they seemed to him at the time. A lingering touch on his shoulder as she walked past his chair, his favourite stew boiling in the pot, the shirts – whose buttons he'd neglected to sew back – suddenly disappearing, before reappearing looking like new… He knew what she was trying to tell him yet, as much as he ached to give in to his feelings and her charms, he simply couldn't put aside his many misgivings.

Things would have been different once but he was a sick man now. He did not know whether he could still perform as a man… Not that that was _all _she wanted from him. Of course, it wasn't, but it was on the table nonetheless and it worried him. And then, there was the big question – the most important one – which was: would Charlotte catch it? Would she catch his tuberculosis if ever they became too close to each other?

A large part of him already knew the answer, yet there was a tiny part, which kept trying to convince him otherwise. Because he wanted to be with her and he wanted to believe they were a possibility. Had he still been young, he'd probably have ignored his qualms completely and held on solely to what was most convenient to him, but now he was old enough to know better. Now he would never be able to forgive himself for giving someone, who'd become so dear to him, even the smallest taste of what was killing him.

So he pretended not to notice her fleeting touches on his arm when she wanted to get his attention, or the way she'd offer him a cigarette and then hold it between her lips as she lit it, leaving the tip moist from her mouth. Maybe he really _was _reading too much into it, Arthur convinced himself. And if he was and he acted on it, things between them would no longer be the same. He feared losing her friendship; she was all he had left. Besides, if things between them became awkward and uncomfortable, he'd have to move again and going back to O'Creagh's Run was not an option. Where would he go then?

XXX

'Let's go for a ride today.' Charlotte piped up one sunny morning, her hot breath curling in the frosty air.

The thaw appeared to have come at last and Arthur had decided to shovel the sleet out of the vegetable plot. He had woken up feeling well and full of energy and had worked up a sweat while shovelling, chasing away the chill and whatever weariness remained from his convalescing days. It was as if he could breathe deeply, filling his lungs to the fullest, for the first time in months. Maybe, he mused, he'd spent his entire life holding his breath; after all he'd been an outlaw for almost as long as he could remember, always looking over his shoulder, always plagued by the feeling that at any moment he might be dead and he wouldn't even know it. Sort of like what had happened to Sean. One second you're there and the next… Bang!

He thrust the shovel into the frozen ground, panting slightly. 'A ride? Where to?'

'Don't worry. We need not ride towards O'Creagh's Run. We could head northwest past Doverhill instead. We'll have a picnic…' she added when he wouldn't say anything, as if she was trying to convince a child to do something unpleasant. At last, she sighed. 'I'm tired of being cooped up in here.'

Arthur, who hadn't just been enjoying making her squirm, but considering her proposal as well, finally nodded. 'Alright. I think it should be fine if we head north.'

'I'll saddle the horses.' Charlotte jumped straight into action, eager and excited.

There had been a time, Arthur mused, when he too had felt restless like that, yet his cabin fever was not winter related. Being in the camp with the gang, after what had happened in Blackwater; surrounded by fighting and hostility, by uncertainty and hopelessness, had been nearly unbearable. He had much rather keep busy elsewhere. Not that the world outside was any more peaceful – there was always another gang or some angry hillbilly or other to deal with – but at least he could give those a good beating, or shoot them in the face. What mattered most back then was to keep on moving.

By the time he finished clearing the garden, Charlotte was already done with the horses and back inside, arranging food into a basket. 'D'you never tire of them picnics?'

'Tire? Of picnics? Is that even possible?' she wondered in amusement. 'What do _you _have against them?'

'Me? Nothin'. Nothin' in the least.'

Charlotte simply gave him a knowing look. 'What do you suggest we do then? Would you rather go without lunch?'

'I'm simply worried it isn't picnic weather out there just yet. I wouldn't want us getting our backsides frozen.' He finished wiping the sweat off his neck and forehead and shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket. He'd been slowly getting used to all the picnicking, but then the snow had come and they'd been confined to the house…

'You're not going to tell me, are you?'

'Tell you what?'

'Why it makes you uneasy. Picnicking, that is.'

'I've been trying not to.' He tittered.

'You know you can trust me.' Her voice lost its edge and so did her smile, all in an attempt to convince him.

'It's not that… You like picnicking so damn much! I don't wanna ruin it for you.'

That had Charlotte falling silent, her lips slightly parted in surprise. It took her a long moment to come up with an answer. 'Alright.'

'Alright? You're not gonna sweet-talk me into telling you all about it?'

'No.' she smiled coquettishly. 'So what will you have us do?'

'Why…' coughing lightly, Arthur seized the basket, which sat forgotten on the dining table, and smirked. 'Let's have ourselves a picnic and we'll worry about the rest when it happens.'

'_If _it happens, you mean.'

'If it happens. After you, my lady.'

Charlotte made a curtsy and crossed the threshold with a beam on her face. He followed suit, wicker basket in on hand and his gun in the other. She would be fine, he promised himself, because he would never let anything bad happen to her.

XXX

They stopped by the place Arthur had once dubbed 'The Loft', where the remnants of a long abandoned camp marked a good spot to sit and eat in relative peace. Arthur was glad that he had, at the last minute, decided to strap the shovel to Bertha's saddle; this way he was able to clear the ground of all remaining sleet and snow. He even lit a fire, though his instincts screamed otherwise, to keep them warm and so Charlotte could brew some coffee for them. He convinced himself that everything would be fine and it was.

They enjoyed a Spartan but tasty meal, admiring the clear blue skies and the breath-taking view that only nature could provide them. Besides the occasional 'pass me that, please' or 'thank you', they did not exchange many words, yet the silence between them was comfortable and familiar. In a way, of which they were both quite aware, that fact spoke volumes.

'It's still early.' Charlotte paused to watch the horizon over Sonny's saddle when they had finished repacking everything. 'Why don't we ride a little further ahead? Just to the end of this road.'

'Sure.'

Trotting slowly, they proceeded west, riding downhill then uphill then down again.

'Met this crazy scientist lady once, south of Valentine…' Arthur began, laughing to himself at the memory. 'She wanted me to find her dinosaur bones.'

'Dinosaur bones?'

'Yep…'

'And did you find them?'

'Found some strange bones alright… Including one right on top of that hillock, on the left there. Now if they were dinosaur bones or something else, well… That's not for me to tell.'

'Arthur?' Charlotte slowed her horse to a walk after a moment, so Arthur pulled Bertha's reins in. The mare was eager to oblige. 'There's something I wanted to tell you…'

He turned to Charlotte. She was watching him, waiting, and she seemed unsure, which, like the bones he'd found, was extremely unusual. 'Go on.' He encouraged. 'I don't bite…usually.'

His silly joke put a wobbly smile on her lips, yet the second she opened her mouth to speak, Sonny stopped and started backing up, throwing his head back frantically. Bertha too halted and, seeing the other horse so distraught, glanced around wide-eyed and wary. Arthur followed the horses' gazes, yet there was naught ahead of them other than snow and silence. So he reached for Sonny's bridle to try and help Charlotte calm him, but before he could seize it the horse neighed and bucked. Charlotte and the picnic basket fell on a thankfully deep blanket of snow as Sonny bolted northwards.

'What the… You okay?'

'Fine.'

Arthur jumped off Bertha's back. 'Stay here, girl.' He tried to calm her, but he could see it did little good. The mare was marking time with her feet, her head held high and her brown eyes wide.

As soon as he stepped towards Charlotte they all heard it. The roar of a bear. And it sounded like it was getting closer at that. Bertha, following Sonny's example, neighed and bolted. Arthur swore, seizing Charlotte by the arm and helping her up.

He couldn't believe it was a bear… It was still too soon for bears, wasn't it? But the sense of urgency had him running back towards the loft, dragging Charlotte after him, and, soon enough, a second roar came to reassure them that they were doing the right thing by getting away. 'C'mon. Faster. Let's go!'

The layer of sleet which covered the road was shallow enough that they could gather some speed, but it was also slippery and, in their hurry, they kept losing their balance and skidding on the frozen dirt. It was only when they'd reached the top of the hill and were almost back at the loft that they dared stop and look back.

Along the way, Arthur's panting had turned into a wheeze, then a cough and as he bent over, hands on his knees, struggling to make his lungs work, the hacking only became more vicious. It was overwhelming and there was no way he could stop or control it. Charlotte's hands on his back and shoulder braced him, yet he was still aware of her swivelling her head desperately from him to the road and back again. They might have lost the bear for a moment there, but there was no way it wouldn't hear his loud, harsh coughing. Arthur feared the entire country might be able to heart it, and a hungry bear…

Another roar reached them.

'Come.' Charlotte linked both arms around his as she half-dragged, half-urged him onwards. 'Into the cabin! Come!'

Still doubled-over, still coughing, he managed to trot blindly beside her until he was leaning against the wooden wall inside the cabin. Charlotte locked the door behind them, then nervously checked that all the windows were properly shut. 'You don't think it would come in, do you?'

Hacking and wheezing, he could only pull his gun off its holster and offer it to her. She accepted the weapon, slightly reluctant, then set out to pace from one window to the next. Until Arthur stopped coughing and sat limply, inhaling and exhaling slowly and quietly.

'I think it's gone.' Charlotte whispered at last, barely daring to breathe, and slid down beside him pale and quaking.

For a long time they were silent, he with his neck stretched up in an attempt to ease the passage of air to his lungs, and she glancing around the place, trying to think of anything but the bear and whether it was sitting outside just waiting to devour them.

'Whose place is this?' she muttered, changing tactics.

'I don't know.' Arthur grumbled. 'Been here a couple o' times before… It's always open and tidy, as if inhabited, but there's never anyone around.'

'What's up there?'

'Lookout.'

'Oh…' Charlotte was still shaken, she could not hide the quivering in her voice. Arthur finally opened his eyes and peeked at her. She'd been white as a ghost before, but now the colour had returned to her cheeks with a vengeance, and her hair, which she had bound so neatly, had wispy locks falling haphazardly around her face. She looked so young and vulnerable and… 'We lost Sonny…and Bertha.'

'They'll come back.'

'How do you know?' she turned sparkly hopeful eyes on him and his already dry mouth seemed to crack like parched soil.

'Bertha's too lazy, she won't run farther than she needs to and then she'll get hungry and come back for easy food. And Sonny… Sonny can't stand being without her for long, so… They'll come back.' He chuckled and _that _finally put Charlotte at ease. She smiled and, before Arthur could even understand what was happening, reached out to cup his face and kissed him.

He pulled away instantly, heart hammering in his chest. 'Charlotte…' he faltered.

'What?' she whispered, still smiling, still holding his face between her hands.

'We can't. We can' do this.' He shook his head even though it pained him so damn much to do so. And he'd thought nothing could ever hurt him more than his disease… That's what he got for forgetting about love.

'Why not?' she frowned, confused.

'You're gonna catch it… My TB.' He kindly took her hands in his, lowering them, and caressed their milky skin with his thumbs. 'I'd never forgive myself.'

Charlotte raised her hands again and forced him to meet her eyes. She had the warmest of smiles on her lips, so easy and tender… It said much more than any words could ever have. 'I don't care.' She told him. 'I died with Cal, Arthur. I really _would _have died if you hadn't showed up when you did… Taught me to hunt, then to shoot.' She chuckled merrily at the memory and tiny tears escaped the corners of her eyes. 'This is a second chance for me already, so I can do with it as I wish.'

He too had been given a second chance, he mused. A chance to undo his wrongs, to rewrite his ending, and he knew second chances were far too rare and precious to be wasted. So he would make sure they made the most of theirs. And because he could not deny her or himself any longer, he pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her.

* * *

**A.N.:** 'Sonny' was what I called my palomino Kentucky Saddler in RDRI. He stayed with me from the moment John captured him near Armadillo, all the way through Mexico, only to die as John was hunting wolves with Jack... I was heart-broken, so here's a small homage to him. :P Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter VIII

**_Chapter VIII_**

'I don't think I'd slept this well in ages.' Arthur coughed lightly to make his point.

The cot in the cabin was tiny, at least for two adults, but they had managed to fit somehow. Night had come and gone and, even though they hadn't found more than a single rusty can of peaches, they had still managed to sate each other's hunger. Now the sun was up and the morning light slowly snuck in through the windows, giving everything an air of warmth and cosiness.

'We're lucky no one showed up during the night.' Charlotte chuckled, tracing invisible lines on his chest with the tips of her fingers.

'I told you it'd be fine. Whoever they are, they probably use this place only during huntin' season.'

'And you were never here during hunting season?'

'I don't know… Maybe I got lucky myself.'

'What would you have done if they caught you? Shot them?'

'Well… Usually I try to tie 'em up first, but if they got a gun... I have to defend myself.' It felt like it had been so long since he'd been to the loft for the first time, almost as if it had happened in a different lifetime. It amused him that she should chastise him for it now.

'Are you making fun of me, Arthur Morgan?' she raised her head to pierce him with a mock glare. 'Don't forget I'm a dangerous woman.'

He laughed, shaking with coughs in between. 'I couldn't if I tried.'

Charlotte beamed, she could not help it, then laid her head back down on his shoulder. 'Tell me if I grow too heavy.'

'My whole arm's just gone numb, but that's fine.'

She slapped him, but joined in his laughter. 'I'm serious.'

'I know y'are. Stay there, woman! It's fine. Let me ask you somethin'…'

'What is it?'

'It's nothing important. It just…occurred to me is all. You don't need to answer if you don't feel like it.'

'Alright.'

Arthur hesitated a moment, running his hand up and down her arm and through her silky dark brown hair. 'You and Cal… Did you never…want children?'

'We did.' Charlotte answered instantly, easily. 'We never tried to prevent it. It just wasn't meant to be.' Then, after a small pause to let him digest her words, she wondered: 'What about you? I know you were never married, but… What about children?'

'Maybe.'

'You don't know or you won't tell?'

'A bit of both, I guess.'

'Only you could get away with an answer like that…'

'The horses are back.' Arthur noted when a neigh sudden cut through the settling silence.

'Will you write it for me?' Charlotte asked unexpectedly, slipping out of her own thoughts and raising her head to meet his eyes once more.

'What?'

'Your story. Not the story of Dutch's boys, but _your _story. I promise to read it only when you're dead.'

Her eagerness always cheered him up for some reason, making him chuckle. 'Maybe. Maybe I will.'

XXX

One morning Arthur woke up and, watching Charlotte's sleeping face, realised he did not want her to watch him die. His last bout of sickness had given him a good glimpse of what the end was going to be like and, after all the sides she'd seen of him, he did not want that to be how she remembered him, feeble and waning. It seemed like such an unbecoming way for a man, who had lived the life he had, to die. And he was afraid too, which was something he hadn't felt since he'd managed to help John escape… He was afraid of losing her and afraid of leaving her. It cast a black cloud over his thoughts, even as they basked in the bliss of fledgling love.

'You seem distracted.' Charlotte linked her arm through his. It was a beautiful night; the moon was full and the skies were clear, blanketed with stars, and they'd decided to take a walk down to the waterfall.

'Just lost in memories is all.'

She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye, but let it go. Instead of poking and probing him further, she began humming a melody. Arthur did not recognise it, so he restrained himself to listening as they marched together the rest of the way. Soon the roar of the water swallowed Charlotte's voice and she ended her song with a deep exhalation. 'It never fails to amaze me…how magnificent this place is.'

'Yeah…' Arthur turned away for a moment to cough and the blood that stained his hand immediately reminded him of the decision he was facing. 'He couldn't have picked a better spot to live, your husband.'

'Oh, don't be sad. We may never get married, the two of us, but that doesn't mean what we have isn't special.'

'Wha'? That's not… That's not what I was thinking about.' He ended in a mumble, angry to have given himself away. He could have just agreed with her and that would have been the end of that, though he had a niggling suspicion she might have tricked him.

'Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?'

He could not help but laugh. 'Nah… Mostly people have called me dumb.'

'And you believed them.' It was not a question. Charlotte eyeballed him meaningfully, a trace of mirth on her face. 'Well, I'm telling you you're anything but. Actually, I think Dutch felt threatened by you.'

'Dutch? Threatened? By me?' he snickered. 'You clearly do not know Dutch…'

'From what you told me, I know enough. And, yes, by _you_.' She was dead serious. 'Because, when you started thinking by yourself, you suddenly had the potential to be a much better leader than he ever was.'

Arthur shook his head slowly, fighting back a bout of coughing. 'You're too much for me, woman.'

'No, I'm not. Think about it.'

And he did, for a minute perhaps. 'Well, even if things was so… Even if I'd taken over or something, it would still have been too late to change anything.' This time he could not stop the coughs from coming. 'We were in too deep already.'

'You're probably right there.' Charlotte nodded. 'And, had things been any different, _we _might have never met.'

'And you'd be dead.' Arthur reminded her.

'And I'd be dead.' She returned his smile wholeheartedly. 'I'd have died twice. Once for not knowing how to hunt and once for not knowing how to shoot.'

'You knew how to shoot!'

'Not well enough I didn't!'

'You'd have figured it out then. You're a smart woman.'

'Why, thank you.' She gave him a kiss on the cheek for that. 'I think we should head back. We're starting to grow a little too cold… We shouldn't risk any of us getting sick.'

'No…' he agreed rather sadly. 'We should not.'

XXX

He decided he would leave mid-spring, by then most of the snow should be gone and the story – his story – which he'd been putting down for Charlotte's sake would be finished. He had told her a lot already, yet he still felt like he owed it to her to share the whole truth of what was in his heart.

In the meantime, he let his worries slip his mind as they worked on the garden beds, planting vegetables and flowers; went fishing, hunting and horse riding; and even foraging for mushrooms, herbs and other plants.

It was a good life they led, he realised one late afternoon as they sat on the porch, hand-in-hand, watching the sky change colours with the setting of the sun. Charlotte laid her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly, and Arthur felt a peace so great he wanted that moment to last forever.

'I wish…' he heard himself say as if he were watching the scene from somewhere far away. 'I wish I'd met you sooner… Before I got this damned disease. Maybe we could have lived like this for twenty… Thirty years.'

She did not bother telling him that, if they had met any sooner, her husband would shave still been alive and she wouldn't have spared Arthur a second glance. He knew. He also knew he would've very likely robbed them and left Charlotte – whose name he would never even know – behind, as an enemy rather than a friend or a lover, but he did not tell her that either.

'We may still spend twenty years like this.' She dissembled. 'We don't know what the future holds.'

But Arthur did. There were moments when he nearly forgot he was hopelessly sick and planning to leave so intent were they on pretending otherwise, yet his body always found ways to remind him – coughing a little more each day, running out of breath faster, growing tired after the smallest effort – and though he did his best to hide it from Charlotte, he wasn't entirely sure he could fool her. After all that time together in isolation, they were far too attuned to each other.

He still humoured her though, even if they both knew it to be nothing but make-believe. 'Sure. Life always finds a new way to surprise you.'

'And how.' She met his eyes, twinkling meaningfully.

Arthur grinned. 'And how.'

XXX

At some point he'd decided he would ride northwest, bury deep in the mountains and in the snow and, as October neared its end, he was forced to start packing in preparation for his departure. He did everything discreetly, which was not much of an issue as what little clothes he owned remained in the guest bedroom despite him moving to Charlotte's.

Charlotte herself seemed to be striving to fulfil his every whim even before he knew them himself, it felt to him like a final attempt at convincing him to stay. Yet if she suspected something, she never said a word and that, more than anything, gnawed at his conscience. At last, two days before he was scheduled to leave, Arthur caved in and decided to tell her.

He'd meant to leave a letter, of course, with his journal and his story, which he'd be presenting her with. He knew her chances of changing his mind were practically non-existent that way, but he could not shake the feeling that she deserved better, that she'd earned the right to have a say in the matter. So when she poked her head into the guest bedroom, where he'd been writing, to say she'd run him a bath, he knew the time had come.

'I think the temperature's just right now.' She tested the water one more time as she walked into the sunlit bedroom. 'But I've another pot on to add to it.'

'It's fine. It's not that cold today.'

'I know.'

There was something in her smile this time that Arthur knew did not belong there, yet he still could not place it. She stepped closer and began to undo his buttons with light deft fingers. 'You would have made a great pick-pocket.'

'I'm sure I would.' Charlotte smirked, pushing the suspenders off his shoulders.

As she carried his shirt away to hang it properly, he finished undressing and stepped into the water. It wasn't hot enough to burn, but it still made his whole body feel like it was melting. He settled into the tub with a sigh, yet to think of what he was about to tell Charlotte and what her reaction would be put a frown on his face.

She returned with more hot water, humming a random melody and drawing up her sleeves. 'Is it good?'

'It's perfect.' He smiled, watching her closely until she settled on the edge of the tub and started massaging his shoulders. He searched his mind for words, for a way to broach the subject but all coherent thought had slowly dissolved under Charlotte's kneading hands and the relaxing heat of the water.

'You did yourself a number here.'

Arthur glanced at the scar left from his untimely encounter with Colm O'Driscoll and his men. 'I was lucky to make it out of there alive.' He mused. The wound still pained him, from time to time, making the area around it quite stiff, but those hot baths and, even more so, Charlotte's ministrations did wonders for it.

'You were lucky to have survived at all. If the wound had festered…' she shuddered just thinking about it.

'I know.'

He turned to watch her pour more hot water into the tub and was slightly surprised when she began to undress. She slid in behind him, her thighs flanking his waist as she held him to her chest. His knees were pushed out of the water, yet as he rested his head on her shoulder he could not really care less.

'It's a little too warm for today; the water. You should have told me.'

'It's fine. We'll be able to stay in longer.'

'It'll be perfect once it's cooled a bit.' Charlotte conceded. 'I don't think we'd had a day this sunny ever since you moved in here.'

And indeed the whole bedroom looked alight that day. It seemed to be covered in the same warm glow that had lit up The Loft the morning after that bear had chased them. It was a cosy feeling that only wood and the sun together could provide. One that, living in camps and sleeping rough for so long, Arthur had rarely got a chance to experience.

'Charlotte…' he began before he missed his chance or lost his nerve.

'Mmm?' she ran her wet fingers through his hair, distractedly.

'There's somethin'… Somethin' I need to tell you.' The moment the words crossed his lips he felt the entire atmosphere in the room change. The sun was still shining and the water was still hot, but everything felt colder somehow. A heavy silence hung between them, like the moment of tension in a duel right before each party reached for their gun. 'I —.'

'You're leaving. I know.' She beat him to it. This was a duel he could not win. 'Just tell me why. Because as hard as I may think about it, it simply makes no sense to me.'

'I'm a sick man, Charlotte. I'm not long for this world.'

'You sound like you're going to die tomorrow.'

'Well… Maybe not _tomorrow_, but I doubt I'll live to see another spring.' As if to punctuate that statement, he coughed wetly.

'And until then you'd rather be off by yourself somewhere else.' She filled in bitterly.

'Now, that's not what I said.'

'Isn't it?'

'You haven't let me finish.' Arthur turned his head as far as it would go so she could see his annoyance.

Charlotte sighed, relaxing back against the tub. 'You're right. I'm sorry. Go on.'

'I don't know how ugly things are gonna get in the end, but you've seen what it's like when I fall ill. It ain't pretty and I reckon it's only gonna get worse. I don't wanna die knowing I've grown to disgust you or live long enough for you to resent having to look after me. Besides…' he cut in before she could protest, which he knew she would. 'You've already buried one man. I wouldn't want you to have to bury another.'

She had had a riposte prepared before he interrupted her, yet now it seemed to have died on her lips, she snapped them shut. Instead she shook her head, Arthur could feel her every movement even if he could not see her.

Aggravated, he began to cough, bending forward and away from her. Once it stopped, he prepared to step out of the water and put some distance between him and Charlotte's silent rejection, but her dripping wet arms snuck around his chest, pulling him back against her. She sighed deeply and it carried both a note of resignation and exasperation.

'You silly, _silly _man.' Her face was against his as she hugged him and her cheek brushed his as she shook her head hopelessly. 'Are you really going to deny yourself – _us _– precious time together just to preserve your pride? The end is never pretty, for anyone. No matter _how_ you die. There is no pride in it. There may be joy though...and love.'

'It's not pride.' He protested. 'It's you I'm thinking about. I could never be at peace knowing I was a burden to you.'

Charlotte shook her head again. 'Can't you see you're not thinking about me at all?' He turned his head to look at her, his face the picture of indignation, but she resumed before he could utter a word. 'You're being selfish.'

Arthur turned back away. She was laughing at him and he felt like a child, a naïve ignorant child, and he knew his scowl only added stubborn to that list, yet he could not help it. Deep down, however, he did wonder if she might be right.

Her arms around him tightened, making him cough lightly. 'Put yourself in my place.' She whispered, her breath making his damp skin prickle. 'If _I _was sick and I wanted to leave, to waste my final days away and not burden you, how would _you_ feel?'

Still hacking, he relaxed against her once more and tried to put things into perspective. _Her _perspective. He liked to think, if she was in his boots, that he would have respected her wishes. Yet the thought of a sick Charlotte riding into the wilderness to die who knew how and who knew where was a disturbing one. Maybe he _would _have tried to respect her wishes and let her go, but then he had to admit he would have probably followed her. Otherwise, _he _would have been sick too. With worry.

And would he have minded looking after her at the end? Would he have looked at her and felt resentment and disgust? No, he did not think so. All he felt when he looked at her was peace and warmth and, even if watching her wither made him feel extremely sad, that feeling of love would still have been there, giving pink hues to an otherwise grey life. Besides, how much time would they have lost at the end – good happy days – only so, and here his make believe turned back into reality, he could spare her a few bad days?

Charlotte was right. He was ashamed, embarrassed, to be sick and dying, of having to rely on her so much when the TB struck. Her feelings had never really played a part in his decision, he'd simply projected his unease and disgust with himself onto her. And now that he at last saw things her way…

'You don't need to answer me right now. Sleep on it.' She muttered, sensing the twisting and turning of the cogwheels inside his head. 'Let's just enjoy this moment… As if there was no tomorrow.'

Arthur was quite sure he'd already made his decision and that it was a definite one, yet he saw no harm in humouring her. 'Sure.' He patted her knees in agreement.

'Thank you, Arthur.' Charlotte's arms tightened around him again, though not so much as to make him start coughing once more. Her face was buried in his neck as she added, her voice muffled by his skin. 'Thank you for everything.'

He laid a hand on her head, wetting her soft dark hair. If there'd be no tomorrow, it made sense to say thank you. 'You too, Charlotte. You too.'

XXX

When he woke up the sun had yet to rise, yet that wasn't the only reason why the room felt strangely cold and empty. He glanced to the side and noticed Charlotte wasn't there; that caused a sudden stabbing moment of panic. Had she left so he wouldn't have to? Coughing violently, he swung his legs off the bed and pushed himself to his feet. All her clothes and belongings were still in their respective places, that gave Arthur immense relief.

After waiting a few minutes for the hacking bout to cease, he left the bedroom and found her outside, making her way back to the porch, a shawl around her shoulders. Her gaze was lost on the ground, and when she finally lifted it and found his raised eyebrows staring back at her, she seemed surprised.

'You've made your point, woman. Now come back to bed.'

Charlotte frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'I know now how you'd feel to wake up and find me gone. That's what you were trying to do… Or wasn't?'

'Yes, that's exactly what I was trying to do.' She agreed, but her hesitation had lasted a little too long and he had seen right through her. He need only give her a knowing look to make her sigh and relent. 'I just couldn't sleep so I went for a walk.'

'Yes. It's a beautiful night.' He conceded. 'But you could've gotten yourself killed.'

'I only went as far as the fence!' She snapped, making him laugh.

'You were right. You'd have died if I hadn't come along.' Arthur kept teasing.

Charlotte wasn't falling for it a second time though. 'I told you I'm always right.' She gave him a smug look, finally taking the steps to the porch.

'That you did.'

She nestled into him and he threw his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. 'Are you still going to leave?'

'So that's what's worrying you.'

'Mmm…'

'I hadn't _really _considered your feelings… You were right about that too. As you always seem to be.' He smiled fondly down at her and laughed when Charlotte jabbed him lightly between the ribs.

'So?'

'So I did. I put myself in your place, as you said.'

'And?'

'You may always be right, but you just cannot be patient, can you?'

'Oh, stop taunting and tell me what you've decided already!'

Arthur could have gone on riling her and amusing himself at her expense, this was an unique opportunity after all, yet he was also kind of anxious to see how she would react to his big news. 'And…' he picked up. 'I'm not leaving anymore. Not willingly at least.'

'Oh, thank God.' Charlotte sighed, hugging him tighter.

'You wanna stay and watch the sunrise?' he asked after a long moment of silence. By the escalating chirrup of birds it would dawn soon enough.

'This place may be beautiful, but it does _not _offer a good view of the sunrise.' She pulled away from him at last. 'How about tomorrow?'

'Tomorrow?' Arthur looked rather warily at her suddenly radiant face. 'We're having another picnic, aren't we?'

'I know the perfect spot for us to watch the sunrise! And what better time of year than this?'

'Well…'

'Oh, trust me, Arthur. Not even bears will find us there.'

He chuckled. 'If you say so.'

'Take your journal. You're gonna want to draw it.'

'Yeah… Talking about journals…'

'What?' Charlotte blanched. 'What is it?'

'That – uh… – story you wanted to read, I was gonna leave it for you when I went away. It's written, Charlotte.'

She nodded and took his hand. 'Thank you. I promise I'll wait till you're gone to read it.'

'It's fine. You can read it whenever you want.'

'So… What should we do now?' Charlotte asked coyly.

'Don't tell me you want to start reading it already!' he even coughed at the thought. He'd been trying to rise above his insecurities and let her know all there was to know about him, but he had not prepared for so such eager enthusiasm.

'No, silly. I was going to propose we go back to bed! Maybe make it a late morning today… What do you say?'

'Sure, why not?'

And, as the first rays of the sun broke through the horizon, announcing the dawn of a brand new day, they walked together back into the house.

* * *

**A.N.:** I've refrained from mentioning anything from the part of Arthur's past that we don't know, because I've a feeling we may still learn more about it (from official sources) and I wanted this story to remain as canonical as possible.

As this is the last chapter, I also feel I should say that this was meant to be a heart healing story. I know many of you probably wanted action scenes and reunions with the gang, but that would have only led to Arthur dying the same way he died in the game and there would have been no point. I wrote this story to give him a small measure of peace and happiness, which I felt he deserved at the end, I feel and _hope _that I've succeeded.

Thank you all, as usual, for your amazing support!


	10. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

John Marston had read about many people in Arthur Morgan's journal, but there was something about the way he wrote of this woman called Charlotte that had John riding all the way east to Annesburg and then further north to a small property nooked beside a waterfall and hidden behind a wood of evergreens.

A woman sat at the porch, reading a book. She raised her gaze at the sound of his approaching footsteps and, surprisingly, instead of looking wary of the strange man trespassing on her property, she smiled hospitably.

'Excuse me, ma'am, but I think you may have met a friend of mine a few years back. Big, bulky fella with blondish hair?'

'Arthur Morgan.' She pinned down with unmistakable affection.

'He spoke very kindly of you in his – err – writings.'

'Oh, is that so?'

'It's Charlotte, ain't it?' he asked sheepishly, just to be sure.

'Yes, that's me. I've always thought very fondly of Arthur myself.' She told him, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

She sounded so joyful, it made John question what he was doing there. To tell her that Arthur was dead? Did she really need to know? Would she even care?

'Well, I… I'm sorry to say that he's dead, ma'am. He passed away soon after he last saw you… I thought he'd like you to know that's why he never showed up again. He was very sick, you know.'

'I know.' Charlotte nodded quietly. 'I know he was sick and I know he died… I was there.'

'You…' caught completely off guard it was about all he could do to gape stupidly at her, like a fish out of water.

She chuckled. 'It's John, isn't it? John Marston?'

'Arthur, he… He told you about me?'

'Oh, he told me lots of things.' She waved a hand dismissively and put the book down on the bench. 'Come in for a cup of coffee.' she met his eyes and smiled, widely, fondly, as if lost in happy memories. 'And I'll tell you all about Arthur's last years.'

Too dumbstruck to speak, John watched her stand up and make for the front door. At last, when she stopped and turned back to him, raising her eyebrows, he found his voice. 'That… That's very kind. Thank you.'

XXX

'So this is the place?' Charles surveyed the strange Hill Home from the back of his horse.

'She said it's just up that slope there. May be a bit of a climb.' John explained, recalling Charlotte's words.

'We should leave the horses here then.'

They hitched their mounts to nearby trees and were off, negotiating the slippery incline, occasionally skidding on the scree and having to use their hands to maintain their balance, they eventually made it onto the ledge.

'How did she get 'im buried all the way out here?'

'Apparently, she rode to Annesburg when he died to enlist some help and ran into these Germans... Said they wouldn't even charge her for some reason.'

'I think I may know the ones.' Charles realised after a moment. He'd always liked to believe that good begot good and he was grateful that had proved true for Arthur in the end. 'But why this place? Didn't you say she had a plot by her house?'

'Yeah, but her husband's buried there. It wouldn't be right.'

'Is that what she told you?'

John thought about it for a moment. 'No. I just assumed… She said they came here often during the spring and summer, she and Arthur, to watch the sunrise.'

For a moment, they were both quiet. There was the grave; surrounded by rocks, a simple unidentified wooden cross staked in a mound of dirt amidst a bed of tropical milkweeds. And beyond and beneath it sat forests and rivers and mountains; nature at its finest.

'This place is perfect.' Charles could not help noticing. 'Arthur would have been happy.'

'Yeah…'

'You sure she'll be okay with this?'

John watched his friend untie the brand new memorial cross, he'd whittled himself, from his back. 'Sure. She said she's too sick to come here anymore and that she's gonna have to go back to the city. She was just waiting for one of us to show up because, somehow, she always knew we would.'

'Sick? Was it…?'

'I don't know… I couldn't ask.'

With a nod, Charles turned back to the task-at-hand and together they replaced the plain weathered cross with the new one. _Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness._

'Rest in peace, my friend. You've earned it.' After a minute of mournful silence, Charles stood and turned around. 'I'm heading back. There're still some things I wish to look into before I leave.'

'Sure. Go ahead. I'll catch up with you later.'

As John stood there, in front of Arthur's grave, the weight of all that had happened seemed to finally strike him. Until that moment, he had felt restless as if he'd spent the last eight years running from the Pinkertons, but now it was all over. Finally. And he knew – more than ever – that he would not have made it, he would not have strived to become a better man all those years if not for Arthur.

'Guess we're just about done, my friend.' He said and smiled as the burden, at last, lifted from his shoulders and he turned new, grateful eyes towards the future.


End file.
